


Safe Harbor

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [7]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Typical Warnings, Captive Prince Fanart, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Underage Sex, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: After returning to Arles after four years of pretending to be a slave in Ios, Ancel tries to get back into the swing of being a pet again. It's more difficult than he'd expected, but luckily there's a Lord in a boring brown jacket ready to offer him a hand up.(Ancel's story, set in the same verse asSurrendered to Deep Waters)





	Safe Harbor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tourmaline.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tourmaline.).
  * Inspired by [Surrendered to Deep Waters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237716) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone). 

> This is set in the same ‘verse as [Surrendered to Deep Waters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237716/chapters/47962963), a primarily Damen/Laurent fic- if you haven’t read it, check out the summary in the End Notes. Just be aware that the summary contains a Big Spoiler, so if you’re interested in StDW, I’d recommend reading it first, for the best experience :)
> 
> Canon typical warnings, aka Ancel is hella underage in the beginning. There is a sex scene involving the Regent, though not super graphic it’s probably not pleasant. Ancel thinks he’s in control but obviously- he’s just a child. If you want to skip right past those bits, search for “It only lasted a few months until the war with Akielos broke out and everything changed.” Although, there are references to Ancel’s time with the Regent throughout the fic and he’s definitely trying to Deal with Some Shit without actually dealing with any of it.
> 
> Berenger is Berenger, aka a sweetheart and a perfectly Proper Gentleman.
> 
> This is a gift for Tourmaline! Thank you for commenting with a vengeance <3

* * *

The first time he sucked cock, Ancel was eleven.

He’d caught the eye of a merchant’s son while performing with his troupe on the streets of Sanpelier. The merchant’s son invited the troupe to perform for a party his father was throwing, and the pay included room and board for two days and nights.

At eleven Ancel wasn’t an idiot, neither was he naive. You couldn’t grow up an orphan and not know how the world worked, how _ those kinds _of favors worked. He saw it for himself every night- the way the older boys in his troupe flirted with the leader and got rewarded for it- better food, a better place to sleep, a better cut of their profits. It seemed a small price to pay, a quick fuck and you’ll have a roof over your head, food in your mouth.

Ancel wasn’t proud, not like that. And he wasn’t scared when the merchant’s son came to his room the first night with a bottle of wine and two cups. Instead he felt flattered, grown up. He felt awfully clever, playing the same game as the older boys did.

But he was cleverer than them, so he understood that he was too young for most men. And that meant the merchant’s son knew he was doing something wrong, and was doing it anyway.

Ancel played the innocent, batting his eyelashes and pretending to be drunk- though he’d been drunk plenty of times before and one glass of cheap red wasn’t enough to have him swooning. He played up how scared he was and how _ they shouldn’t be doing this _as he coaxed a higher and higher price out of the merchant’s son.

He made more that night than he did in _ weeks _ with the troupe, and then the young man gave him a gift afterwards to boot. A silver ring inset with a tiny peridot, so that Ancel would keep their _ little secret. _ The ring was cheap but still the nicest thing Ancel had ever had. And all he’d had to do was play a game of pretend and suck a cock afterwards. The merchant’s son had lasted barely a minute, spilling in Ancel’s mouth while he could only swallow in shock.

True, it was foul. But not so foul it wasn’t worth it.

After the merchant’s son left, Ancel finished off the wine and laid in bed, twirling the ring around and around on his finger as he contemplated the new avenue that had opened itself before him.

The troupe was a dead end anyway. The leader was a drunk and a mean one to boot. They weren’t going anywhere fast, nowhere good at least, and Ancel was tired of getting slapped around.

So maybe he could strike out on his own instead.

He was gone before dawn, stealing as much as he could from the troupe before he left. He hitched a ride to a near-by town, playing up the pitiful orphan act so an old farmer picked him up in his hay wagon.

He had enough money to get a cheap room in a cheap inn and spent his time in the main square, watching the people bustling about their business. Watching them watch him.

He got good at finding marks, men who liked little boys and didn’t mind paying. He got good at a lot of other things too- sucking cock first and foremost.

Ancel had vague dreams of becoming a pet, perhaps. Still a whore, but a better paid one. He dreamed of being surrounded by the luxury of the royal court and made his slow way towards Arles.

It was through a pure bit of luck that he found himself in the same town as the Regent- who’d only been the second son back then. The spare prince. He was the most powerful man Ancel had ever seen, so of course he made his way to the front of the crowd as he watched the Regent’s procession move past.

And then- wonder of wonders- the Regent looked down and _ saw _him. And he had that gleam in his eye, that gleam that Ancel was so familiar with by now. Ancel smirked and blew him a kiss.

The Regent’s eyes widened, losing composure for a split second, before he looked forward again and was past.

It wasn’t difficult to find out where the Regent was staying. It really wasn’t difficult at all to sneak into his bedroom at the inn. After all- who marked the comings and goings of a twelve year old boy? What sort of a threat was he?

Ancel’s breath caught as he wandered the room, running his fingers over the finely carved furniture, the soft linens. He’d never been in such luxurious quarters and he felt giddy.

Eventually the door opened and the Regent stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at Ancel standing in the middle of his room.

“Sire?” a soldier asked out in the hall. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” the Regent said. “You’re dismissed.” He closed the door. And then he locked it- the click of the deadbolt sounding somehow final.

Ancel shivered.

“I saw you,” the Regent said, running his eyes appreciatively down Ancel’s body as he stepped forward, “earlier. In the crowd.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ancel breathed out, dropping his eyes to the floor. He affected a more high-brow accent, just in case. Surely the Regent wasn’t used to slumming it with street urchins. He’d dressed in his best clothes, trying to accent his boyish features. He’d left his hair loose in long shining waves. He knew what he looked like. He looked good. For a man like the Regent, irresistible.

“Why are you here?”

Ancel shivered. For a moment he felt like he was trapped in a cage with a wild animal, and then he took a deep breath and shoved the feeling away. He was in control. He was always in control, and this was no different.

He considered everything he knew of the man before him, sizing him up in an instant. He raised his eyes to stare the Regent insolently in the face. He’d liked it, when Ancel had blown him a kiss.

“I wanted to be here, with you.” Ancel said boldly. “I thought you might like to have me here,” he continued, smiling a little so the double meaning was clear.

“Is that so?” the Regent asked. He seemed intrigued.

“I’ve never felt the way I felt when you looked at me,” Ancel said, lowering his eyes again. “I just wanted…”

“I don’t think so,” the Regent said, something sharp in his voice. “I think you’re a lying whore.”

Ancel looked up with a gasp, his mouth dropping open in shock. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. This had never happened before.

“Tell me,” the Regent said, advancing as Ancel could only back away until he bumped into the bed. “How many men have had you?”

“None,” he whispered, trying to gain control again.

“Wrong,” the Regent said. “But I’ll give you what you came for, little slut. Take off your clothes.”

Ancel stared up at him, trembling.

“Do it, or get out.”

Every instinct was screaming for Ancel to flee, but he couldn’t. He was so close- so close to everything he’d ever wanted. He couldn’t just leave now.

“I don’t do it for free,” he said, tilting his chin up defiantly.

“Is that so?” the Regent purred.

“And it’s true I- I haven’t- I’ve only used my mouth. You’ll be the first to- to-”

“I see.”

“So it’ll cost extra,” Ancel said. “For my first time.”

“And what will it cost?”

“I want a contract,” Ancel said. “A pet contract. I want you to take me to Arles.”

“We’ll see,” the Regent said. “It’ll depend on your performance.”

Ancel took a deep steading breath, in and out. And then another. This was dangerous. He’d always gotten his money up front. But this was worth the risk, wasn’t it? It had to be.

“I’m good,” Ancel said, to hide the way his hands were shaking as he started taking off his clothes. “I’m the best. You’ll see.”

The Regent watched with a faint smile playing over his lips. “Get on the bed.”

Ancel got on the bed. The Regent followed. Ancel felt strange, like he was floating outside himself. This was the most important performance of his life and he couldn’t quite get his body to cooperate. He couldn’t hide his wince of pain when the Regent first pushed into him, but it seemed the man wasn’t so put off by that as Ancel feared.

The sounds he made were more sounds of distress than pleasure, but that only seemed to urge the Regent on.

Ancel ended up on his hands and knees and his face buried in the pillow, sobbing quietly as the Regent sped up and eventually finished. After it was over everything ached, and Ancel couldn’t bear to turn around to look at the man who’d done that to him. Who’d enjoyed it.

He felt sick and dirty, hollowed out.

“It seems you’re as good as you say you are,” the Regent said thoughtfully. “Alright. I’ll offer you a contract.”

Ancel took a slow deep breath and surreptitiously wiped the tears from his face. He forced himself to smile as he turned and ran a hand playfully down the Regent’s chest.

“I’m honored, my lord,” he simpered.

It got a little easier after that. He enjoyed the luxury- the jewels and the fine clothes, the rich surroundings. He didn’t have to worry about having food to eat, or a place to sleep. The Regent wasn’t cruel, exactly, in his attentions. Ancel told himself he liked it. It was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

It only lasted a few months until the war with Akielos broke out and everything changed.

He was sent off to Akielos to play at being a slave with Nicaise and Prince Laurent. He saw through the ruse immediately, saw through the Regent’s games after being privy to them for so long. He knew there was no coming back for any of them.

And still, it wasn’t horrible, not really. Prince Laurent was noble and kind, clever despite how painfully sheltered and naive he was. And Nicaise was fun, with his dirty mouth and his games. Ancel came to care more for the both of them than he’d ever cared for anyone. And then he’d started to admire them for their defiance in the face of power, their strength and bravery.

Damianos took them into his harem and Ancel prepared himself for the moment he’d be chosen to do his duty. To get fucked. But it seemed Damianos only had eyes for Laurent. So Ancel spent a further three confusing years steeped in luxury while no one seemed to have any demands of him.

It was strange, to be cared for and not be expected to bend over and spread to pay for it. So much of it felt strange.

And then it all changed again, when they found out that King Auguste was alive after all and they made their way to Aquitart. It felt strange, to kneel at Laurent’s feet with Laurent’s hand on his shoulder as he watched the Regent being flogged to death. He felt angry and vindicated and most of all- confused.

He’d chosen his path, hadn’t he? He hadn’t felt taken advantage of before, not until he watched the Regent begging and screaming in pain, confessing to all the crimes he’d committed.

The return to Arles was strange too. It should have felt victorious but Ancel only felt empty.

King Auguste summoned him a few days later. Ancel stood before him in the throne room while Auguste sat on his throne. The room was empty but for the two of them.

“Laurent has offered Nicaise a contract,” Auguste said. “To keep him at court. To keep him safe until he’s older. I’d like to do right by you, too. After what you… experienced. And after the way you stood beside my brother while I could not. I could offer you a contract? I don’t keep pets, not really, but you’d be well taken care of. Or maybe you’d prefer to pursue a trade? Laurent mentioned you enjoyed embroidery, maybe you could-”

“Sire,” Ancel interrupted, bile rising in his throat. He’d always taken care of himself. He’d never relied on the good will and charity of others. It was too easily rescinded, lost. He’d never be lost again.

“I am a pet,” he said defiantly. “I have prospects. I don’t need to be coddled.”

“I see,” Auguste said. “That is your choice. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t,” Ancel said sharply. He knew exactly where his value lay, and it was higher now than it had ever been. After the glorious and shocking return from Ios, he was the most famous and sought-after pet in all of Arles.

True, he couldn’t have the highest ranked members of court- Auguste, despite his offer, was well known to exclusively prefer women. And Laurent was out of the question. But there were plenty of other powerful Lords who could offer Ancel the opportunity to earn his living by his own merits.

So Ancel immersed himself in court politics with a vengeance. He was good at making men want him. He was good at playing the game.

There were several Lords that were interested in him and he played them against each other, raising his price. The most promising of all was a man named Droet. He already had a pet, a wispy brunette draped in diamonds. That was why Ancel singled him out for his affections. He wanted diamonds too.

He managed to catch Droet alone in the coupling gardens and enticed him into a hidden niche. Droet kissed him on the neck, rough and full of wanting, and Ancel didn’t have to disguise the way he trembled.

He was trembling with fear and disgust as old memories of the Regent surfaced, but Droet took it for desire. Droet slid his hand up Ancel’s thigh and it was all he could do to turn his face away so he could gulp in huge lungfuls of air and shove down the bile rising up in his throat. This was what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

“Lord Droet,” came a cool voice, and Droet pulled away.

There was a man in an unobtrusive brown jacket standing on the path, unaccompanied. He was plain, though not unattractive. His eyes lingered on Ancel’s disheveled form for a long moment before he looked to Droet once again.

“Lord Berenger,” Droet said.

“If I might have a word?” Berenger asked.

Droet turned away and the two of them strolled down the path, leaving Ancel alone to gather himself. He did vomit then, once he was sure he was unobserved, before making his way back to his own rooms.

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He didn’t want to be a plaything.

Droet was still his best prospect, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man without recalling the sickly heat of lips against skin, a hand trailing up his thigh. There were other rich powerful men, though none of them seemed particularly appealing either.

Ancel felt sick with himself, with his life. Was this really all he was? All he had to look forward to?

The more time passed the more his star waned, and soon he realized he was running out of options.

He arranged to have himself put in the ring and felt like he was watching from outside his own body as he wrestled the other pet down into the sand. He felt sick as he fucked the young man, making a show of it as he smirked and made exaggerated sounds of pleasure and stared out into the crowd. He made the pet come and then pulled away and left, vomiting again in the privacy of the back halls.

This was what he wanted.

He wanted to be in control of his own fate.

Eventually an attendant came to tell him that he’d been bought. The price was far more extravagant than he’d expected.

“Who was it?” he managed.

“Lord Berenger,” the attendant said.

“Oh,” Ancel whispered, thinking of the plain man from before. Plain men, in his experience, had the most shocking desires. He considered running, then.

He’d considered it plenty of times before, but now it seemed suddenly reasonable. He could run, and be free, and- and-

And what would he do then? What could he do? He knew exactly what he was good for, one thing only. And so he took a deep breath, and he didn’t cry, and he prepared himself to go to Berenger.

* * *

Berenger was a serious man. Ancel had figured as much from his brown jackets.

So he didn’t do what he might have done otherwise- show up to Berenger’s rooms still disheveled from the fight. He bathed instead, and tried to sleep. In the morning he dressed in his best clothes and went to Berenger’s rooms.

The rooms were empty.

He waited a long time, so long that he curled up in Berenger’s bed and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. Berenger’s bed smelled… good. Musky and warm, welcoming. He fell asleep though he didn’t mean to, and woke to the sounds of someone moving about the room.

“My lord?” he asked, sitting up.

Berenger paused in the middle of lacing up his dinner jacket, staring at the pet in his bed.

“Ancel,” he said smoothly.

Ancel moved to get up but Berenger closed the distance in a second, setting his hand on Ancel’s shoulder. “Rest,” he said. “Or do as you like. I won’t impose on you tonight.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, confused and unsettled.

He laid back down and Berenger went about his tasks, dressing efficiently before leaving the room once more.

Ancel slept. 

He woke a few hours before sunrise to find a silk pouch on the pillow beside him, and opened it to find a fine emerald bracelet. He frowned as he padded quietly out into the main room to see Berenger sleeping fitfully on the couch.

He didn’t know what to make of that, so he put on the bracelet and went back to bed.

Berenger didn’t prove to be any more transparent as the days went on. He seemed perfectly content to give Ancel rich gifts and then leave him completely to his own devices.

It only made Ancel feel more tied up with nerves. What horrible things did Berenger want to do to him, that he felt the need to soften him up so badly?

But the days passed and Berenger made no demands. Sometimes Ancel accompanied him to feasts and other court functions, and made a point of doting on him, and charming his allies. It made no difference. Berenger simply treated him with cool courtesy, and gave him gifts, and made no move to touch him other than what Ancel himself initiated.

He didn’t know what to make of that.

“I have to return to Varenne for the winter,” Berenger said one morning while Ancel helped him dress. “It’s a rough province, not what you’re used to. There won’t be much to do. I’d like to have you with me, but I’m afraid you’ll be quite bored. Would you care to go with me? Or would you prefer to stay here, in Arles?”

Ancel felt suddenly angry at the question. Was Berenger trying to get rid of him?

“I’m your pet,” he said forcefully.

“Ancel…”

“I’m _ yours,” _ Ancel hissed. “If you don’t want me any longer- you don’t have to keep me. If you don’t want me, sell me. Trade me away.” His voice was rising, he felt wild, out of control. He could make men want him, so why was Berenger immune? What was wrong with him? What was wrong with _ Ancel? _

“Why did you even bid on me if you don’t want me?” Ancel demanded, nearly yelling now. “Why did you-”

“I do want you,” Berenger said quietly. Ancel startled, looking up at him in shock. “I want you,” Berenger repeated, gently.

“Oh,” Ancel breathed out, relaxing as heat bloomed in his heart, spreading to encompass him until even his toes were tingling. He stepped closer, smiling flirtatiously. “Do you, my lord?”

He raised his hands to cradle Berenger’s face, leaning in for a kiss.

Berenger frowned and turned his face to avoid it, stepping back. “That’s not-” he started. “I didn’t mean-”

He grimaced and turned away. Ancel scowled at his back, angry all over again.

“They told you, didn’t they,” he said flatly.

“What?” Berenger asked, turning to look at him in surprise.

“They _ told _ you,” Ancel spit out, tightening his hands into fists. “Laurent, Auguste. They told you. They’re wrong. They don’t know how it was. It was- I’m not- I’m not- _ filthy. _ I’m not- _ broken.” _

“Ancel?” Berenger asked.

“Fuck off,” Ancel hissed, storming off.

He avoided Berenger for a full three days, his gut churning sickeningly the whole time. Any minute now he expected Berenger’s man, Parsins, to find him and tell him he’d been turned off.

He’d be seen as Berenger’s cast-offs, damaged goods. Everyone would think he hadn’t been able to keep Berenger’s attention. Berenger! Painfully boring _ Berenger. _ They’d think Ancel was bad in bed, or had a nasty attitude. No one would want him again and he’d end up right back where he’d started- on the streets somewhere, juggling for loose change. On his knees in some dark alley while an ale-soaked brute fucked his mouth.

He wanted to kick himself for how stupid he’d been.

Parsins did find him eventually, out in the gardens where Ancel was sullenly throwing bits of bread at the ducks swimming in the pond.

“Lord Berenger’s retinue leaves for Varenne at noon,” Parsins said, his voice nasal and judgmental. “If you’re joining us, you’ll meet us in the stables before then.”

Ancel didn’t say anything and Parsins left in a huff.

There was still an hour until noon. Ancel slid off the bench and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He didn’t know what to do.

And then, half an hour later, he rose. He didn’t have to pack, he had no things. All he had were Berenger’s gifts and he made a point of wearing all of them, no matter how gaudy the jewels might look together. It just felt- it felt. Safe. To keep his valuables on his person like he’d used to, before all of it.

Berenger’s retinue was nearly ready to leave and Ancel lingered by the door of the stables as he watched Berenger directing the rest of the preparations. Like this, he looked the picture of a Lord even despite his boring ugly brown jacket. He looked powerful, in control. He smiled as he stroked the neck of one of the horses and suddenly he was transformed from someone of middling attractiveness to someone radiant.

He glanced over and caught sight of Ancel hanging back. His smile changed somehow, softened even as it seemed to fade.

“Ancel,” he said, just loud enough that Ancel heard it.

Ancel walked towards him, unable to do anything else. Berenger offered his hand.

“Are you coming with us to Varenne?” he asked, like Ancel really had a choice.

Ancel considered saying no, then. He considered his other options, the offer Auguste had made. It was no small thing to have the favor of the King, the Prince. Maybe he could make a different life for himself. Or maybe he could…

Berenger simply waited, patient and unassuming. Ancel took his hand.

“I’ll saddle a horse for you-”

“I don’t know how to ride,” Ancel said.

“...Ah,” Berenger said. “You’ll ride pillion with me, then. If that’s alright?”

“Fine,” Ancel said. He had no idea what that word meant, but he could guess.

The preparations were finished. Berenger mounted his horse and offered Ancel his hand. Ancel mounted too, settling with some difficulty behind Berenger in the saddle. The height was terrifying. The horse was terrifying. And smelly. 

“Hold on to me,” Berenger said and Ancel wrapped his arms around Berenger’s middle and held on for dear life, hiding his face against the soft fabric of Berenger’s jacket.

They took a slow pace, to start.

“Loosen up,” Berenger murmured, moving to stroke Ancel’s thigh. It felt good and Ancel bit his lip. He was already starting to feel sore and it had barely been half an hour.

“Relax into the saddle,” Berenger said. “Move with me- move with the horse.”

Ancel tried, and after a while it got easier.

“You’re doing so well,” Berenger said and Ancel flushed, pretending like he hadn’t heard.

By the time they stopped at an inn for the night Ancel’s body was screaming in pain and he couldn’t help wincing as Berenger helped him dismount. He was a fool. He should have stayed in Arles.

Berenger led him up the stairs to a well-appointed room where a bath was waiting before leaving and giving Ancel his privacy. For a long time Ancel simply soaked, hoping the hot water would soothe the aches away. He couldn’t help feeling nervous about the next day, and the next. How far was Varenne, anyway? What had he gotten himself into?

When the water grew cold he managed to drag himself out and wrap a towel around his hips before collapsing to bed. That was when Berenger returned with a tray of food and a bottle of wine, setting it all on a nightstand within easy reach. While Ancel ate Berenger made himself scarce again, returning freshly bathed and dressed in a simple white shirt and soft pair of trousers.

Ancel watched, heavy-lidded, as Berenger moved about the room. He took a stoppered jar of oil out of one of his bags and Ancel’s heart sped up with nerves. Was this it? Finally? He wasn’t sure how he felt about the prospect of Berenger fucking him after all this time. Nervous, but there was anticipation there too.

If Berenger fucked the way he did everything else, he’d be thorough and steady, gentle. It wouldn’t be like it had been with the Regent. It might be good.

Ancel shifted a little to make sure he was laid out alluringly over the sheets, letting the towel slip further down his hips. Berenger flushed gratifyingly when he turned to see Ancel waiting for him, and then swallowed and made his way over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“How do you feel?” he asked as he opened the jar. The smell of cinnamon filled the air as Berenger poured oil into his hand and rubbed his palms together to warm it.

Ancel propped himself up on his elbows, trying to figure out what Berenger wanted to hear. _ I feel like I want your cock inside me? _No, that was too forward. Berenger would just narrow his lips in disappointment if Ancel said that. He ran through a few other options but none of them seemed quite right.

“Good,” he settled on at last.

“Really,” Berenger said with a wry smile, quietly amused. He smoothed his hands down Ancel’s bare thigh, leaving his skin warm and tingling from the oil. He did it again, slow strokes that felt blissful over Ancel’s cramped muscles, occasionally digging his fingers in right where Ancel wanted it most.

He watched as Berenger worked, realizing this wasn’t about fucking after all. He felt a strange sting of disappointment and pushed it away.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Berenger said, not looking at him. “I should have realized you didn’t ride. That was thoughtless of me, I’m sorry.”

Ancel blinked in surprise.

Berenger moved to massage his other thigh, working the tension out expertly. “I’ve arranged for a wagon for tomorrow. You won’t have to ride again if you don’t want to.”

“Good,” Ancel said, but for some reason he was thinking of the way Berenger’s back had felt pressed against his chest, his face. The way his waist had felt, when Ancel had wrapped his arms around him. He wasn’t bad looking at all, really. His body was trim, and his youthful face was rather handsome, especially when he smiled. He had nice eyes, framed by long dark lashes, and a strong jaw.

Ancel reached out and ran a finger down Berenger’s jaw line, making the man look up at him in surprise. His cheek was a little rough with stubble this late into the evening. Ancel wondered how it might feel against his skin.

“Horses smell like shit,” Ancel said.

Berenger’s lips quirked up in a smile and he ducked his head to continue his work. “Turn around,” he said after a while. “I’ll do your back.”

Ancel turned. With anyone else he might have made sure to have the towel ‘accidentally’ slip, but with Berenger he didn’t bother. He’d just get annoyed, and then he might not want to rub Ancel’s back anymore.

There was a fresh bloom of cinnamon in the air as Berenger got more oil, then his warm hands were sliding up Ancel’s back and it was amazing. Ancel managed not to moan, but only just.

“What is Varenne like?” he asked, closing his eyes.

Berenger hummed thoughtfully as he worked the knots out of Ancel’s lower back, his shoulders. He dug his fingers into the tight muscle and ran his thumbs up both sides of Ancel’s spine.

“Beautiful,” Berenger said. “Though I suppose I’m biased. The province is bordered by mountains to the east, and pine forests to the north.”

“I’ve never seen mountains,” Ancel murmured. Berenger switched to gentle stroking rather than the more vigorous massage from before. Ancel yawned.

“They’re lovely,” Berenger said. “They rise into the sky, so huge it’s nearly beyond belief. They’re capped with snow all year round, and at sunset they turn to pinks and purples.”

“Mmm,” Ancel hummed. Berenger kept talking, waxing poetic about mountains and forests and other nonsense. Ancel yawned again, sleepy and warm. He’d been lying before, when Berenger had asked him how he felt. But if he asked again now, Ancel would say he felt good and mean it.

* * *

Ancel woke naked and alone in bed, the blankets tucked carefully around him. He didn’t ache as much as he’d expected. His skin still smelled of cinnamon.

There was fresh clothing laid out for him, soft woolen trousers, a silk shirt, a coat, a fur cloak. There were heeled riding boots too, the leather embossed with delicate designs. Ancel dressed and went downstairs, where breakfast was still out on one of the tables by the fire.

Berenger was across the room talking to a few of his men, but he nodded to Ancel when he saw him.

Riding in the wagon was easier than the horse, but more boring too. For most of the day Berenger rode beside him, pointing out various landmarks that Ancel pretended to pay attention to. Rocks were rocks and trees were trees, he didn’t see the point in noting any of them.

It was nearly a week before they reached Berenger’s fort and Ancel could only wrinkle his nose at the plain surroundings. It was nothing like Arles, where every wall was draped in tapestries and fine fabrics, beautiful details adorning every surface. It was nothing like Ios, where the brilliant sun reflected off the stunning white architecture and the sea breeze swept through every room, cool and fresh.

Berenger’s fort was made of rough stone, purely practical. It was dark and smelled vaguely damp.

“I should have stayed at Arles,” Ancel moaned dismally as he followed Berenger to the rooms they’d be sharing.

“It’s not all that bad,” Berenger said, and didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.

At least the fire had been lit in his rooms and the air smelled pleasantly of smoke and sweet herbs. There was a separate bed chamber for Ancel, and the bed had velvet drapes and was piled high with satin pillows and soft blankets. There was a rich fur coverlet, and a beautiful wooden jewelry box inlaid with mother of pearl.

Ancel’s mood brightened as he drew closer and opened the box to find a set of heavy earrings, glittering with rubies and diamonds. He slipped them on and turned, beaming, to see Berenger leaning against the door jam.

“See?” Berenger said with a smile. “You’re in a better mood already.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Ancel said. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Dinner was simple, like Berenger preferred, though the serving boys brought over a few delicacies and set them within easy reach at Ancel’s side. And there was cake for dessert, a delicate vanilla sponge topped with berry cream and shaved chocolate.

Ancel slept well that night and rose feeling more optimistic than ever.

Berenger was right, the fort really wasn’t so bad. As the days went on Ancel explored the cavernous halls, the storage rooms. He found an entire room of old tapestries featuring hunting scenes and ordered for them to be hung in the halls, brightening the place up. He found some sort of music room too, and a small harp that looked close enough to a kithara that he thought he might figure out how to play it.

The fort had a fine set of gardens with a pond in the center, though it was quickly growing too cold to stroll through it comfortably.

Two weeks passed before he found a thick envelope on his bed, bearing a starburst seal.

Ancel recognized Laurent’s elegant handwriting on the outside and smiled as he pulled the envelope open. There was a letter inside and Ancel huffed in annoyance as he stared at it. Of course- Laurent had written in Veretian. Why wouldn’t he? Why would the prince ever consider that Ancel might not be able to read it?

Adrastus had taught them Akielon in the slave gardens, so they could read and study the epics for Prince Damianos. After all the kithara lessons he could read music, too. But that was as far as Ancel’s schooling had gone.

Still, he ran his fingertips carefully over Laurent’s letter. There were doodles in the margins from Nicaise and a short message written in boyish Akielon script. There was another, thicker bundle in the envelope. Ancel laughed a little as he unfolded it to see one of Lykaios’ tales- another romance. She was getting better.

Ancel considered Laurent’s letter again, and went to find Berenger.

He was in his study, reading some sort of report behind his giant desk. It was a nice enough room, warm from the roaring fire in the hearth and bright from the giant windows set into one wall, looking out onto the gardens.

There was a thick carpet to cover the cold flagstones and bookshelves lining the walls, along with a few decorations- a family portrait, an antique dagger, a marble bust of some handsome man Ancel didn’t know.

“Are you busy?” Ancel asked when Berenger looked up quizzically.

“What is it?” Berenger asked, setting the report aside.

“I received a letter,” Ancel said. “Would you read it to me?”

“If you like,” Berenger said, still puzzled.

Ancel handed him the letter and perched on the arm of his chair, wrapping an arm around Berenger’s shoulders to steady himself. Berenger scanned the missive quickly and started to read while Ancel tried to follow along.

Laurent scolded him for leaving without saying goodbye, then went on to talk about what had been happening at court. He kept to silly stories for the most part. He spoke of a letter he’d received from Damianos and shared news of the slaves back in Ios. Nicase was being a terror, as usual. He’d stabbed one of the Lords in the thigh with a fork.

Ancel laughed a little at that. His eyes were prickling, his vision blurred.

“Ancel?” Berenger asked in a near whisper. He reached out to swipe his thumb over Ancel’s cheek. His hand came away wet.

Ancel sniffled and rubbed his eyes vigorously with the back of his sleeve, mortified.

“Do you want to go back?” Berenger asked gently. “It’s not too late in the season for the return journey. The snows won’t start for a few weeks-”

Ancel shook his head and slipped fully into Berenger’s lap, wrapping his arms around Berenger’s shoulders and hiding his face against his neck. Berenger returned the embrace without hesitation. Ancel closed his eyes and melted into it, listening to the warm crackling of the fire, Berenger’s steady breathing.

Eventually he pulled himself together and stood. “Could I have some parchment? And ink?”

Berenger handed the items over carefully and trimmed a quill before offering it up too.

Ancel took it all to the fire and laid himself out on the carpet as he considered what he’d write back. He formed the Akielon letters methodically, not particularly practiced at it. They were decently legible, though not nearly as pretty as Laurent’s.

He wrote about Berenger, mostly. He wrote that he was doing well, and that he was happy. He wasn’t, exactly, but he thought maybe that might come with time.

After the ink dried Ancel folded it carefully and wrote Laurent’s name on the outside in shaky Veretian, copying the way he’d signed his name.

“Would you have this sent to him?” Ancel asked, handing the letter over.

“Of course,” Berenger said, slipping it into an envelope and sealing it without reading it first.

Ancel stood awkwardly before his desk, not quite sure what to do with himself now.

“You could stay here, if you like,” Berenger said.

“And do what?” Ancel asked. “Watch you read?”

“You can read yourself,” Berenger said with a smile. “Or nap. Or do whatever you like.”

“I can’t read,” Ancel retorted even as his gaze went to the bookshelves lining the wall behind Berenger’s desk. “Not Veretian anyway.”

“I have books in Akielon,” Berenger said, standing and picking out a heavy tome.

Ancel grimaced when he saw it was Isagoras. “I was a royal slave in Ios for four years,” he said. “I know Isagoras better than you do.”

“Oh,” Berenger said, flushing. “Of course. I only offered because it’s my favorite. I should have known.”

“Your favorite?” Ancel asked with a smirk. “Perhaps you want me to recite for you _ The Fall of Inachtos?” _

Berenger flushed harder.

“Maybe you’d prefer _ Hypenor,” _Ancel teased. “Do you have six hours to spare?”

“Maybe another time,” Berenger said dryly.

Ancel perused the book shelves on his own while Berenger went back to his work. Finally he found something that didn’t look completely boring and curled up on the couch beside the fire, spending the rest of the evening in companionable silence.

* * *

_ Laurent, _

_ I wrote a song- music enclosed separately. What do you think? The harp isn’t the same as the kithara but close enough. Send it to Lykaios- maybe she could put words to it. Something about conquest and surrender, white flowers growing up to cover a battlefield. _

_ I read her latest. She’s getting very raunchy with her love scenes. Is that Damianos I recognize in the pirate? Is his cock really so large? Does that make you the flower seller? I imagine the two of you didn’t really fuck in the back of a market stall, but knowing you- and him- I suppose anything is possible. I’m waiting anxiously to see if my guess is accurate. _

_ How is Nicaise? I hope he’s well, and not bored to death this winter. Tell him I found his drawing of him disemboweling Lord Fieren to be quite amusing. I’ve sent along a puzzle for him, a thing of interlocking metal rings and- who knows. I found it painfully boring. Maybe he’ll like it. Berenger says puzzles of that sort are common in Varenne. _

_ Speaking of Berenger, he’s gifted me a fine pair of earrings… _

* * *

Ancel spent most evenings in Berenger’s office, reading or embroidering, practicing the harp. Sometimes they talked and it was surprisingly easy.

Sometimes Ancel watched Berenger work, reading and answering his correspondence. He found himself having idle day dreams about the way Berenger had held him. The way his body had felt on that first day of their journey to Varenne, when Ancel had shared his horse. He had dreams sometimes of that night, after the bath. When Berenger had rubbed oil into his thighs and back.

His dreams tended to go differently than reality had gone, and more often than not Ancel woke to find himself hard under the sheets. It was strange to think that maybe he wanted Berenger. Really wanted him. He’d never wanted anyone before.

Berenger cared for him, he could see it in his eyes. Berenger wanted him too, he’d said so himself. _ Twice. _

And yet he did nothing about it. So Ancel was left entertaining idle fantasies about Berenger’s mouth, his hands, the way his body would look once Ancel stripped him of his plain bulky clothing.

The first snowfall came three weeks before midwinter and Ancel sat with his nose practically pressed to the window in Berenger’s office, enchanted as he watched perfect little snowflakes floating down from the gray skies, turning the dry brown ground into a pristine blanket of white.

“You like the snow?” Berenger asked with some surprise.

“I _ love _it,” Ancel breathed out. “It’s the closest thing to magic there is.”

For a long time Berenger was silent, then Ancel heard the unmistakable sound of a quill being set down.

“Would you care to go ice skating?” Berenger asked. “The pond in the gardens is frozen over by now.”

“Ice skating?” Ancel asked, excited at the prospect of going out in the snow. “I don’t know how. Is it hard?”

“You move with the grace of a dancer,” Berenger said. “I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly.”

Ancel flushed at the praise as he practically jumped to his feet, taking Berenger’s hand to drag him back to their rooms. They dressed in winter things before leaving, stopping to grab a pair of ice skates from a stuffy storage room before going outside.

The snow crunched under their boots as they walked through the gardens towards the pond. Berenger bid him to sit on a bench and knelt before him, not caring that he was getting his knees dirty as he pulled off Ancel’s boots and laced him into the skates. Ancel leaned back on his hands and tilted his face up to the sky, opening his mouth to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Berenger had a soft smile on his face as he moved to sit beside him on the bench, putting on his own skates.

“Careful,” he said when Ancel got to his feet, wobbling.

Ancel couldn’t help giggling at how silly he must look, like a new-born colt taking its first steps. He reached out to grab Berenger’s arm to steady himself and they carefully made their way out onto the ice.

Ancel yelped as his feet slipped and Berenger grabbed him before he could fall over. Their breath formed white clouds in the cool air, mingling together before dissipating. Ancel let out an unsteady laugh of relief.

“Easy,” Berenger said. They stood facing each other on the frozen-over surface of the pond, snow floating down around them. Ancel shivered and blinked the snowflakes off his eyelashes.

“Ready?” Berenger asked.

“Don’t let go,” Ancel said.

“I won’t,” Berenger said, letting his hands trail down Ancel’s arms to his wrists, grasping him firmly. Ancel held Berenger’s wrists too, and then Berenger kicked off and they were moving, gliding over the surface of the pond.

“You’re good at this,” Ancel said breathlessly, impressed at the way Berenger was skating backwards while Ancel could barely stay upright. They were going slow but it was still exhilarating, trying something new with Berenger, of all people. Something _ fun. _

“I had a lot of practice as a boy,” Berenger said, smiling easily. “Not much else to do around here in the winter. Not for a child at least.”

“Let’s go faster,” Ancel said with a grin.

They went faster. Ancel copied the way Berenger moved and soon it seemed easy. They skated side by side, still holding hands as they made slow loops across the ice. Half an hour in and Ancel felt steady enough to let go of Berenger and do a few loops on his own, laughing.

Just as he was about to pass Berenger he hit a branch or some other piece of debris and overbalanced with a yelp. Berenger grabbed for him but it was too little too late and they both went down, Berenger twisting somehow so he took the brunt of the fall, Ancel collapsing on top of him.

“Are you alright?” Berenger asked. One of his arms was around Ancel’s waist, one of his thighs between Ancel’s legs. Ancel shivered, though not from the cold. He was close enough to see snowflakes melting into drops of water where they landed on Berenger’s skin, shining like tiny jewels.

“You saved me,” Ancel said. “My hero.” He made no effort to move. If anything he relaxed against Berenger under him, his gaze dipping to Berenger’s lips.

“Ancel,” Berenger whispered. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Ancel said, and leaned down to kiss him. 

Berenger’s lips were so much softer than he’d expected, so much warmer. He realized abruptly that he’d never done this before- kissed someone on the mouth like this.

He felt clumsy and awkward with the knowledge that he was a novice at something, suddenly afraid of doing it wrong, ruining this somehow. Berenger made a quiet sound of pleasure and raised his hand to cradle the back of Ancel’s head, turning his face to a better angle. He opened his mouth and deepened the kiss and Ancel trembled at how strangely good it was.

The snow kept falling around them, making a soft pitter-patter noise against the ground, cloaking everything in white. They kissed, slow and gentle like they weren’t lying out on the ice. Like they had all the time in the world just for this.

Ancel closed his eyes, his world narrowing to the places they were touching. It was a beautiful world- Berenger’s lips against his, Berenger’s arms around him, Berenger’s powerful body under him, his thigh pressed to Ancel’s groin. Berenger swiped his tongue into Ancel’s mouth and he moaned, his hips jerking involuntarily. Pleasure bloomed in him at the motion, at the way his hard cock pressed into Berenger’s thigh.

“My lord,” came Parsins’ stuffy voice.

Ancel pulled back, panting. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed he’d find that Parsins was just a dream, and not really here after all.

“What is it?” Berenger asked.

Ancel opened his eyes to see Berenger looking up at him, his cheeks flushed and a smile playing over his kiss-bruised lips.

Ancel had done that, had made him look that way. Had brought the dopey smile to his lips. It was heady and Ancel leaned down to press his face against Berenger’s neck, hiding his own dopey grin.

“Dinner is about to be served,” Parsins said with the air of vague disapproval.

“Thank you. We’ll be there shortly.”

Ancel listened to the slow _ crunch-crunch _ of Parsins’ retreating footsteps, waiting until he was gone before rolling off of Berenger and sitting up. He tried to stand, suddenly conscious of the skates still on his feet.

“Don’t,” Berenger said. “Wait for me, just like that.”

He stood easily and glided over to the edge of the pond, putting his boots back on before returning with Ancel’s discarded shoes. Ancel felt strangely charmed as he watched Berenger kneel for him once again to pick the laces of the ice skates open, and help him into his own boots. He helped him stand too, offering his arm.

Ancel leaned against his side, flushed with the kiss, with the cold air hitting his cheeks.

“That was my first kiss,” he said.

Berenger looked over at him, gaze sharp. “This won’t work if you lie to me.”

“I’m not,” Ancel said, too dazed still to be offended at Berenger’s disbelief.

“Oh,” Berenger said, his eyes softening. He pressed a kiss to Ancel’s forehead. “How was it?”

“Alright,” Ancel said with an easy shrug. “I think we’ll have to practice.”

“I see,” Berenger said with a small smile, not meeting his eyes.

That evening Ancel was confronted with the problem of their separate bedrooms, and Berenger’s unfailing refusal to upset his routine. Their routine was that they bathed separately, and went to bed separately.

Ancel found himself wanting to turn the routine on its head. He rushed through bathing in his anticipation and considered preparing himself. The Regent had preferred it that way before, preferred the fantasy that Ancel was always ready for him as if by magic.

He had a feeling Berenger would be different. He might like to watch, perhaps. Or maybe even do it himself. Maybe more than that- it seemed strangely presumptuous to show up to his bedroom that way, ready to be fucked.

So he dressed in a simple white linen shirt and left his hair loose, left all his jewels in his fine jewelry box. He padded barefoot to Berenger’s bedroom, pushing the door open quietly to see Berenger sitting up in bed, reading by lamp light.

“Ancel,” he said, looking up.

“My lord,” Ancel said, walking forward and climbing boldly under the covers. He made himself comfortable and propped his face up on his hand, staring up into Berenger’s wide dark eyes. “I thought you might like to-” _ fuck me. _

Except Berenger wouldn’t like it put like that, said like that. And Ancel had a feeling it wouldn’t really be like that anyway.

“-make love to me,” he said instead, flushing at how silly the words sounded coming from his mouth.

“Oh,” Berenger said softly. “We don’t have to, tonight.”

“I know we don’t _ have _to,” Ancel countered. “Don’t you want to?”

“I want to… take this slow.”

_ “Slow?” _ Ancel asked incredulously. “You haven’t touched me for months. Isn’t that slow enough? I’m not a virgin, you know. You don’t have to treat me like glass. I _ have _ done this before.”

“Not with me,” Berenger said. “Is it so wrong that I’d want to savor this?”

He moved to brush his fingers through Ancel’s hair and Ancel leaned into the touch, turning his head to press his lips to Berenger’s palm.

“Kiss me, then,” he said.

Berenger set his book aside and shifted to lie down, and kissed him. Ancel felt just as lost in it as before, except now he was warm ensconced in Berenger’s blankets, in the dim lamp light. Now he could feel the lines of Berenger’s body pressed against his own through their bedclothes.

They kissed for a long time until Ancel’s arousal got the better of him and his hips started shifting restlessly, pressing himself to the lean heat of Berenger’s thigh. He groaned in disappointment as Berenger pulled away, but then Berenger pushed him to lie on his side and slotted up behind him, the line of his cock a hard pressure against his ass.

Berenger stroked his thighs, running his hand up Ancel’s body to ruck up his sleep shirt and play with his nipples. All the while he pressed soft kisses to Ancel’s neck, behind his ear.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So perfect for me, so beautiful.”

Ancel screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip so he wouldn’t whimper as Berenger’s fingers trailed down his body again to wrap around his cock.

They sighed together at that and Berenger pressed closer. “Let me hear you,” he murmured. “I want to hear your pleasure. I think you’d sound so pretty for me. Like music.”

Ancel moaned and Berenger tightened his fingers a little, his breath harsh in Ancel’s ear. Ancel reached back to grab Berenger’s hip, pulling him closer, and Berenger stroked him more quickly at that, though still so smooth and steady. He was always steady.

Maybe Ancel should have been making more of an effort to reciprocate, but he was too lost in his own pleasure by then. He’d never had this before- someone looking to pleasure _ him, _instead of simply wanting to be serviced. He was all too aware of that fact that it was Berenger, that it was the two of them, together.

“I-” Ancel managed as he grew closer to his release. “I- I’m-”

“Come for me, darling,” Berenger said, nipping at his ear. Ancel cried out and came, shuddering as Berenger kept stroking him, milking every last drop out of him before he stilled and stopped at last. “That was perfect,” he said. “That was so good. You’re so lovely, everything about you-”

“Shut up,” Ancel managed, turning to claim Berenger’s lips again. He couldn’t bear to hear more praise, not while he felt so raw and fucked out. He dropped his hand and massaged Berenger through his sleeping pants, glorying in the way Berenger moaned and let his head fall back into the pillows. He looked so beautiful as he came undone, unafraid and unashamed.

Ancel liked it, and him, and this- everything.

After it was over Berenger took him in his arms and stroked his hair, his breathing slowing once more.

“To think,” Ancel said, hiding his smile against Berenger’s chest, “you could have fucked me tonight, and instead you chose this.”

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Berenger said softly. “I want to make love to you. You deserve at least that much, if not more.”

Ancel flushed harder and tightened his arms around Berenger’s chest. “Sap,” he said. “You’re the one who sounds like a virgin.”

“Maybe I am,” Berenger said easily, completely unconcerned.

Ancel pushed himself up to stare at him in shock. “No,” he said at last while Berenger simply looked at him. “No. You’re- _ old.” _

“Old?” Berenger asked with a startled laugh. “I’m not even thirty. You think I’m _ old?” _

“I- yes!” Ancel burst out, laughing too. “Have you _ seen _yourself? The jackets you wear- hideous! Brown and brown and-”

Berenger pushed him down and tickled him, making Ancel squeal and writhe with laughter. Sex wasn’t supposed to be like this- owners, _ lovers, _weren’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be easy and fun.

Berenger relented quickly in favor of kissing and Ancel still felt breathless as he wrapped his arms around Berenger’s shoulders and held on for dear life, and kissed him back.

* * *

_ Ancel, _

_ How dare you. As if I’d ever let Damen fuck me in the back of a market stall. (I would, of course. But you know Akielons just as well as I do. Flesh as far as the eye can see as if that’s somehow proper, and as soon as your prick is hard they clam up and demand _privacy).

_ Your song was lovely. I sent it to Lykaios, I’m sure she’ll come up with a poem worthy of it. I’ve been writing Damen too. It’s been difficult, to say the least. Difficult in so many ways. He’s not very good with his words, is he? I suppose you might not know. He’s a dunce, really. I wish he’d- _

_ But I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. In truth, I was worried for you, but Berenger is a good man. I’m glad he’s treating you the way you deserve. You deserve so much, do you know that? Your support meant the world to me, while we were in Ios. _

_ Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation of ice to uphold. _

_ Auguste is as foolish as always. I caught him with a woman in his rooms. Damen has been a terrible influence on him. Can you believe he told Auguste that the Akielons have drugs to prevent unwanted pregnancy? _

_ Auguste is too enthralled with the possibilities to consider the risks. He’s lucky I’m not dead after all, else he’d have at least five bastards by now, all vying for the throne…. _

* * *

They went out ice skating every day in the early afternoon, when the sun was at its highest and the air at its warmest.

Every day was just as fun as before and Ancel loved seeing Berenger flushed and laughing. No one else got to to see him that way. No one but him.

In the evenings they engaged in bed play, and that was nice too. More than nice- lovely. Perfect.

The midwinter festival was a burst of joy and Ancel loved getting dressed up and hanging off Berenger’s arm. He socialized with lords and merchants and peasants and he danced too- dragging Berenger into it whether he liked it or not. But he had a faint smile over his lips throughout the night, so Ancel knew he hadn’t stepped over the line.

He had a feeling that maybe Berenger had no lines, not really. Not when it came to him.

They stumbled back to their rooms late into the night, giggling and leaning heavily against each other. Berenger pushed him into bed and sucked him off while Ancel could only gasp and clutch at his shoulders.

No one had ever done that for him before.

He kept expecting Berenger to blunder into an old hurt, a painful memory. And every time Berenger surprised him with something new and unexpected, something too impossible to be predicted.

It was fun and glorious, carefree.

The snows faded and Ancel let Berenger take him on a horse-riding lesson. It lasted barely an hour but Ancel still felt horribly sore after.

Berenger arranged for a bath for him and Ancel made sure to wash thoroughly, just in case.

Berenger laid him out in bed on his stomach and rubbed the cinnamon oil into his thighs, his back, his ass. And then he swiped deeper, pressing his thumbs between Ancel’s cheeks to open him up.

Ancel moaned, more from confusion and embarrassment than anything else.

“Hush, darling,” Berenger whispered, and bent to swipe his tongue there, at the most sensitive part of him.

Ancel jerked and whined in shock.

Berenger did it again, and again. It was filthy and transcendent, perfect.

Ancel moaned as Berenger licked him, into him. His tongue was hot and perfect, and then he pushed an oiled finger inside.

Everything in him tingled pleasantly at the sensation of being breached, opened. The oil made him feel hot and desperate and Berenger took his time opening him up, pulling Ancel’s hips up off the bed so he wouldn’t be able to finish by rutting against the sheets.

“There you are,” Berenger whispered. “Just there, so good-”

Ancel moaned, pressing back as Berenger pushed a third finger inside, thrusting slowly.

He’d done this so many times before but it had been so long ago and it was different now. Everything was different.

Berenger pushed inside with his cock and Ancel keened as he opened for him, relaxed. It was easy, knowing he was safe, taken care of.

Berenger moved slowly, in and out. He was gentle. He kept whispering nonsense as he curled their hands together, and eventually Ancel was the one who couldn’t take the tease anymore, pushing his hips back desperately to try and speed up the pace.

“Yes,” he moaned, and _ “more.” _

Berenger gave it to him, he always gave him what he wanted, needed. 

Ancel was lost in the sensation of it, being breached, taken. He was so conscious of the fact that it was _ Berenger, _and that only made it better, more perfect.

_ “Darling,” _ Berenger moaned, lost in his own pleasure.

“Yes,” Ancel gasped, and “yes,” and _ “yes,” _and “yes!”

It was amazing to feel Berenger inside him, good in a way it never had been before. It was a strange sort of bliss. It was-

Ancel cried out, sobbing as he reached his peak. All he knew was Berenger inside him, around him, touching him. He spilled into Berenger’s hand around his cock, sobbing with how overwhelmed he felt.

Berenger finished soon after, groaning, and then pulled out and dragged him close, still whispering nonsense.

“So lovely- beautiful- I’m lucky to have- _ darling- _look at you- you’re so-”

Ancel gasped, tears of joy sliding down his cheeks unbidden until he was laughing as Berenger kissed them away.

* * *

_ Laurent, _

_ Laurent, Laurent! _

_ I feel like my heart is fit to bursting. Is this how you feel when you look at your Akielon prince? I thought it was foolish, before. I thought it was pure fantasy, and now I’m lost. _

_ Laurent! _

_ It feels like I’m burning from the inside out. It feels like I’m aching, every moment of every day that we’re not together. Don’t tell anyone I said that, it’s awfully sappy, childish. I just- I feel- _

_ It’s- _

_ Laurent. Don’t tell Nicaise. He’ll say I’m a hopeless fool. But maybe he’ll feel this fire for himself, one day. I can only hope. It burns and soothes, it rips me apart and puts me back together. _

_ Send that to Lykaios- maybe she’ll make a poem of it. _

_ I’m done with poetry for now, done with feeling like a lovestruck fool. I’ve been reading lately, writing too. I’ve been practicing my stitching. _

_ Berenger finally let me pick out a decent jacket for him. Blue, of course. I embroidered it with starbursts in gold thread, for you and Auguste. He looks a Lord for once, and not an old man. And it keeps him out of the mud, for which I thank you. _

_ I can barely wait to see you again, to tell you the rest of it. You’ll blush, I think. I’ve blushed, for sure. Me! I thought I was so worldly. But Berenger… _

* * *

“It’ll be different,” Berenger said quietly.

“What will?” Ancel asked.

“Once we return to court,” Berenger said, not quite looking at him. “It’ll be- there’ll be plenty of Lords, I think, who might wish to bid on your contract. Better Lords than me, richer. Better lands, castles.”

“Oh,” Ancel said. “And what if I don’t want a better Lord?”

Berenger looked at him at that.

“What if I only want you?”

“I-” Berenger flushed, running a hand through his hair. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Ancel said. “Yes, of course. Yes.”

“Oh,” Berenger said, smiling widely. 

“Why,” Ancel said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice, “don’t you want to keep me?”

Berenger took Ancel into his arms and kissed him fiercely, and whispered the words against his lips. 

“I do,” he said. “Of course I do. Yes.”

_ fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> Surrendered to Deep Waters summary: After Auguste is killed at Marlas, the Regent proposes a plan for Laurent to get revenge. Laurent, Ancel, and Nicaise are sent to Ios as slaves for Damianos. Laurent plans to get close to the prince so he can kill him. Of course, nothing goes to plan. Laurent and the pets remain in Ios for four years, becoming good friends with the slaves in Damen’s harem, particularly Lykaios. When Laurent finally has the opportunity to kill Damen, he doesn’t go through with it.
> 
> Unbeknownst to Laurent, Damen has figured out his true identity. He also knows that Auguste is still alive. The Regent had tricked both of them into thinking the other died at Marlas. After Damen helps Auguste and Laurent reunite, they take revenge on the Regent. And everyone lives happily ever after :)
> 
> The pic can be found posted [here](https://barbitone.tumblr.com/post/189459851310/ko-fi-society6-commission-prices-vary-ask)! Please reblog, don't repost
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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